— In winter, Ling Yuang’s legs become useless. They lose all function—though he can still feel touch and pain. They don’t move, they don’t respond to his commands.

This had been happening since he was fifteen. The reason was never fully understood. It wasn’t connected to the onyx embedded in his chest—the one that seemed responsible for pumping his blood (damn ancestor who pulled the jewels from that cursed mountain: hope they’re getting fucked in hell)—and stole his oxygen, but rather… maybe it was just his blood circulation, or something. Not like his body was ever that useful to begin with.

That’s why, in winter, he used to have two options: be exiled to the south, or spend his days bedridden like a useless man… his greatest frustration.

Now, married for almost a full decade of his life, neither was necessary. His husband took care of him—at least, most of the time.

Of course, there were hard parts. Just because it was winter didn’t mean he was on vacation. He still had to teach his disciples and handle his errands, but that was impossible when he couldn’t take two steps without clinging to nearby surfaces or furniture in their home. Helplessness ran through his veins, and he felt filthy from the weight of his own body.

“Do you like this?” Dao Qingyue’s voice pulled Ling Yuang out of every one of his thoughts. They’d been walking for a couple of hours and had arrived at the nearest village to shop at the market. What Dao Qingyue was pointing to was just a bottle of perfume, which Ling Yuang had probably been staring at while dissociating. “I can buy it, if you want.”

Dao Qingyue’s hands were under his knees, which had been stiff and unmoving for exactly three days. His legs were cold and rigid, and the blood circulation was so poor they looked dead, like they were ready to be amputated.

Villagers were probably thinking their dear gongzi had been left paralyzed! Since Dao Qingyue had been carrying him on his back since exactly eight in the morning.